


Banana Boi & Bird Grrrl

by WhoInWhoville



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Babyfic, Bananas, Crack, Drunkenness, F/M, First Time, Halloween, Halloween Costumes, Semi Angsty, Supposed to be funny, banana jokes, but apologizing, but not really supposed to be, but really really minor, mentions of nine and ten, saying mean stuff, self-imposed time lord rules, silly drunkenness, waiting for bad reasons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-05
Updated: 2016-10-05
Packaged: 2018-08-19 18:10:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8220259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhoInWhoville/pseuds/WhoInWhoville
Summary: She's waited long enough and decides to turn up the heat. So why is he being so dense? (Slightly cracky, Halloween-ish fic.)





	1. Part I - Bird Grrrl

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kelkat9](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kelkat9/gifts).



> [Inspired by this picture.](http://whoinwhoville.tumblr.com/post/151394136717/ficlet-banana-boi-bird-grrrl)
> 
>  
> 
> I posted this originally in 2011. It was definitely, most decidedly, completely NSFW. Since then, I've become not so keen on posting play-by-play PWP. If you remember the second half of this silly fic, sorry. That part is gone. *BUT* on the other hand, I decided to heat up the first part and make it a bit sexier. So, a bit of a trade off?
> 
> Soooo... if you are ticked off that I took out the smut, be a nice person and please don't post any negative comments. It's hard enough posting it back up as it is. Thank you in advance 
> 
> Way back when, this was beta'd by timelord1, kelkat9, and onabearskinrug. However, I have changed much of it. All mistakes are mine.
> 
> I've gifted this fic to several people. KK, thanks for saving it from oblivion. Thanks @buffyann23 , @emkaywho, @lunaseemoony, @perfectlyrose, and @soophelia for pointing me in the right direction and/or sending me the original prompt pic, which I had lost. (If anyone else replied with help finding the photos, thanks! I tried to list everyone that helped.)

 ”Rose Tyler, I am talking to you! Don't you walk away from me!" The Doctor raced after Rose as she huffed across her parent’s lawn towards her blue Cooper, parked last in the long queue of party-goers’ cars. Her bare shoulders were visibly tense in the pale, silvery light of the full moon. Every orange and black feather on her costume bounced, shivered, shook, and shimmied as she marched in fury down the gravel path.

Despite his cumbersome party costume, the Doctor caught up with the bird girl. When he reached out and grasped her the bare shoulder, halting her mid-stride, he felt a shot of hot electricity go straight up his arm. 

Rose Marion Tyler was furious. He could feel it.

“Don’t you dare grab me like that!” She spun around and faced him, her hands balled into tight fists.

“How am I to reason with you if you keep turning your back on me, Rose Tyler!”

“Oh really? I couldn’t very well reason with you when you locked me in that stuffy coatroom, now could I?”

“It was for your own good!”

"My own good? My own good! That’s really rich. You don’t have any say as to what is good or not good for me. We both came here single, _Smith_.”

“Smith? Really?” he whined. “Did you really just call me Smith?”

“I did! And I’ll keep callin’ you Smith until you start acting like yourself! Smith! Smith! Smith! John Alistair Gordon Smith. Smithitty-Smith…” She taunted him with the legally necessary — but puppet — name until he placed a firm but harmless finger on her lips to silence her.

“Enough Smithing! And what has put a bee in that ridiculous feather bonnet you are wearing?”

“Oh let’s see. There’s the throwing your big brown coat over my shoulders and trying to usher me out of the ballroom. There was the lockin’ me in the coatroom with your sonic. I only got out because Beth and Clive jimmied the door ‘cos they wanted to make out. And then you sonicked poor James McCready in the arse for daring to bring me a glass of wine.”

“He was staring at your chest!”

“At least someone is!” She hollered.

“That,” he pointed angrily at her chest, “that feathery, fishnetty, black and orange costume is… is… inappropriate!”

“What?” she squealed. “There is nothing wrong with this costume! Tony said I was a pretty birdie. Dad told me it was smashing. Jake said I looked, and I quote, ‘like a proper pumpkin princess.’ And look what you are wearing!" Rose thrust out a feather-covered hip and cocked her head to the side. Her orange-feathered breasts heaved angrily.

"Bananas are good,” the Doctor squeaked as he tried hard to avert his eyes from her cleavage.

"It’s… it’s… you know…” she faltered, waving her hand in the general direction of the Doctor.

“No, I don’t know. Enlighten me.” He stepped forward, invading her personal space.

“It’s,” she lowered her voice and stepped backwards, “phallic.”

He coughed.

She took over the direction of the argument. “Or didn't you realise that Mr. Thickety Thick? Why do you think everyone from Alien Artifacts was laughing and pointing at you?” Rose’s angry voice had a hint of sympathy. “I’m embarrassed for you.”

“Why should you even care? Embarrassed _for_ me?”

She tugged her earring.

“Mine may be symbolically provocative, but you are dressed as... as a... a... feathered lady of the night!" he deflected as he pointed angrily at nowhere in particular.

She gasped. "I am NOT! I am Halloween Bird Girl!" Rose opened her arms widely. The black and orange feathers ruffled lightly in the moonlit breeze.

"What does… what does that even mean? That's not a... a... thing!”

"And a six foot two tall walking banana is?" she squealed.

"Yes! Yes it is! Six foot long bananas exist!" He jutted out his chin proudly and crossed his arms, causing the bottom half of the spongy banana costume to spring forward. Rose stifled a giggle at the bawdy suggestion, eliciting a blush from the Doctor, who quickly uncrossed his arms, forcing the costume back into place. “You look like a pleasure worker on… on… Cuck… Cuckoo…la… Cuckoola.”

“Cuckoola. Right,” she drawled. “You made that up. I bet you ten quid there’s no such planet as Cuckoola.”

“Yes there is. In the rho sector of the Avarian system.”

“There are no _sectors_ in star systems.” She glared into his eyes. “Sectors are in galaxies.”

Despite his anger, he smiled at Rose. “You’re so brilliant.”

Rose’s face softened.

“It’s indecent, and it’s too revealing in all the right,” he shook his head, “er, wrong places.” He took off his glasses and raked his hand down his face and back through his hair, before replacing his spectacles.

Rose’s anger returned. “My clothing never bothered you before. Seems to me you rather liked that short denim dress worn by a certain timorous beastie.”

“That was different.” He pushed his glasses up his nose.

“How? Tell me how it was different, ‘cos I really want to know!”

“There weren’t men ogling you all night, that’s how! They were scary wolf-worshiping monks who were too busy kung fu fighting, and everyone else thought you were a crazy wild girl from the streets of London and accepted your attire as a manifestation of your purported mental illness. That dress became a part of the persona I created for you,” he lectured.

Rose gasped, her mouth gaping wide, and they stared at each other until one of them blinked.

“And so what if I am dressed as a Cuckoo call girl? Huh? It is Halloween! It. Is. A. Costume. Party!”

“I’ve told you a million times! It’s Cuckoola!"

“And I’ve told _you_ a million times, I am Halloween Bird Girl,” she growled, her face red with anger.

“Cuckoolan pleasure worker!” he yelled back.

“BIRD GRRRRRRL!” she snarled.

He crossed his arms and glared.

Rose shook her head, losing a feather. “Why do you even care? You haven't tried to touch me since we got here ‘cept for hugs and hand-holding. Good old hand-holding! Love the hand-holding. Not so much as a single peck on the cheek since the beach! How long has it been exactly? And I know you know the answer to that Mr. Time Keeper.”

“Yes I do know, because I have a superior sense of time. It has been five months, fourteen days, six hours, two minutes and thirteen seconds since my TARDIS dematerialized. Satisfied? And you know what? You are a liar. Rose Tyler. A liar!”

“Whaddya mean?” she screeched.

“I have kissed you! Numerous times!”

“You have kissed my hair,” she seethed through gritted teeth. “Don’t you dare tell me that counts as proper kissing. And don’t dare say you don’t _do_ kissing because you…” She squared her shoulders. “You kissed _She Who Must Not be Named_ and to my knowledge, you never told her you loved her, or burned up a sun for her!”

He uncrossed his arms and tipped his nose upwards. “Quite a leap there, Rose Tyler. From Halloween costume to Madame de Bloody Pompadour. I am going to pretend you didn’t even bring that unfortunate incident up. That water is so far under the bridge it has gone out to sea, evaporated and re-entered the water cycle several million times. And I thought we are talking about _our_ relationship, not _before_.”

“What relationship, Doctor?” She asked, suddenly serious and quiet. “We don’t have a relationship. ‘Cos you have apparently decided we are just flat-mates. Thing is, _Doctor_ , you want your cake and you wanna eat it too. No, wait! That’s not quite right. You _don’t_ want your cake. But don’t want _anyone else_ to have me either!” Her chest heaved. “Not that I want anyone else.”

He started searching with his hands for non-existent pockets. “But, but… You and me, Rose, we’re special. We’re… _different_.”

“Yeah, we’re different all right. Three years separated. And from what Martha and Donna told me when we were all on the TARDIS, sometimes you were a right mess. Donna told me she had to delete every _Snow Patrol_ song off of your iPod after she found you in my old room curled up in my bed wearing one of my hoodies crying to the music.”

“That had been a particularly hard day. And I can’t believe of all the things to tell you, she told you that! That was a very private moment.” He sniffed and whimpered in a slightly high voice.

“I saved myself for you. Not one date while I was here! Not one!”

He shuffled his feet a bit and had a pained look on his face.

“Why don’t you want me Doctor? Have I changed so much? Are you disappointed in who I am now? Am I too independent? Done too much? Did you want me to just sit back and cry for three years? Stay that 19 year old that you swept away?”

“No, Rose. No. I didn’t want that for you. I am so proud of you! It’s not you… it’s me.”

“Seriously?” Rose raised an eyebrow. “The Bloody ‘It’s not you it’s me’ line? You are kiddin’ me.” The angry voice was back. “All right then. Who is it? I bet it’s Beth isn’t it? Oh! She’s a sneaky one. No! I know! It’s that slag Renee’ in Accounting! You’re probably gettin’ it any time she wants, and she’s got you so tired-out that you’re too used up to even look at me,” she taunted.

He shook his head, his lips pressed together tightly, and his deep brown eyes looking straight into hers. “Rose, how could you even think that? Now you’re just being mean.”

Rose and sighed in defeat. “Yeah. I’m sorry. That _was_ pretty low. But tell me why? What is it? What is the problem?”

He looked down at the ground, his hands still desperate for pockets as he shuffled his feet like a little boy trying to muster the courage to give a pretty girl a valentine chocolate.

“There’s no one else. I promise. No one. It’s not that.” He grabbed the back of his neck. “It’s… it’s… well it’s been a long time and — and — and —”

“Oh.” A small smile grew, and she pointed at him. “I think I know. The mighty Time Lord Meta-Crisis is afraid of sex." Rose grinned naughtily.

"I most certainly am not afraid of copulation, and I think you have had too much to drink.” He stuck his nose in the air disdainfully.

“You just told me it’d been a long time. Long time for me too, you know. It’s like getting back on a bicycle, though.” Rose sauntered up to him with an exaggerated swing of her hips. She situated herself as close as she could to him; so close that her feathered headdress tickled his nose, forcing him to lean away slightly. “You just have to get right,” she stroked his ear, “back,” she fingered his lips, “on.” She leaned in a hair’s breadth away from his lips, but then smiled and pulled back.

He shuddered.

“She’s always have been a bit flirty when you have a bit of drink in you. This isn’t her talking,” he whispered to himself. 

“Maybe I have had a bit too much. It’s a party. I’m a big, big girl.” She licked her lips and slowly circled him, tracing his shoulders along the way. Say it,” she whispered in one ear with a devilish grin.

“Say what?” he squeaked.

“Sex. Say the word. Say ‘sex’.” Her voice was as thick as honey.

“I just did!” he squeaked, backing away further.

“No you didn’t. That was one of your sciencey words. Say s-e-x.”

“S-e-x.”

“See?” She wrote the letters on his cheek with her fingertip. “You can’t. You can’t say it.” She backed away with a snort.

“S…s…seeeeckks.” He stuttered and fluttered his eyes as he forced out a semi-coherent rendering of the word.

Rose half-smiled. “You may be afraid of sex, but I am pretty sure you’ve _more than capable_ of it. We sleep in the same bed, remember? All friendly-like. You like to snuggle up. Get all cozy. You love to cuddle. But Doctor, in the middle of the night when you are asleep, you may not know it, but you whisper your naughty, naughty dreams into my ear. And your very,” she slowed, “ _very_ handy and manly right hand _is rather fond of…_ well, I’ll let you use your imagination.”

His mouth gawped, and his face flushed as red as a beet.

“I tell you what. I’m gonna take my magic Torchwood sobering up pills, and then I’m gonna go to back to _our_ flat. And when you come home, you have two choices: sleep on the couch or come to bed. But here’s the thing. If you come to bed, you had better be prepared to show me just how unafraid you are, Doctor.” 

He shuddered at her hot breath caressing his ear. “‘Cos my bed is too crowded with you in there if you ain’t gonna do more than sleep, and frankly, I can’t handle you bein’ in my bed one more night without cop-u-lat-ing.” She turned on her black stiletto.

The Doctor watched her feather-clad bum sashay away. “And I wasn’t a prostitute from the Cuckoo Bird planet. I was Halloween Bird Girl,” she called over her shoulder with wink and an extra wiggle of her tail feathers.

The Doctor dropped himself down on one of the many giant pumpkin lawn decorations.

“Sex.” He choked on the word.

oOo

The Doctor joined Jake at the open bar and asked for two shots of Scotch.

“Jake,” greeted the Doctor before knocking back one of the shots. 

“Glad you changed out of the knob suit, mate.”

The Doctor scowled at him. “Bananas are not phallic.”

“So what was you and Rose going on about? I can’t think of a time when I have ever seen her so mad. You must’ve really cocked up somethin’.” Jake patted his shoulder.

“She… I… We… uh…”

“What did you do wrong? Forget an anniversary or something? Get caught watching porn?”

“Stop it! I do _not_ need to watch porn.”

“Damn straight, not with Rose around.” 

“Jake,” he warned.

He threw up his hands in surrender and pulled in his lips to stifle a smirk. “Go ahead, tell me.”

“Rosewantstohavesexwithme.”

“Pardon? I thought I heard you say that Rose wants to have sex with you. And this is a problem because…”

The Doctor groaned as he leaned heavily on the bar and downed his second shot of Scotch, choosing not to metabolize it. He liked the warm feeling in his belly. He liked having his guard down for a little while.

“Wehaven’thadsexyetandshewantsto.”

Jake choked and began to laugh uncontrollably. “I thought you two would be like rabbits. You should see how she stares at your arse. Though it is a very fine arse.“ Jake leaned back on the stool, and stole a peek.

The Doctor sneered at him.

“So why haven’t the two of you shagged?”

“Scared.”

“She’s scared? Wow. Wouldn’t have guessed that. But then again, I know it’s been a long time for her. She didn’t go on one date while you were separated, you know.” Jake squeezed the Doctor’s shoulder. “Be patient with her. She’s been through a lot, mate.”

“Not her, you idiot! She’s not the one who’s scared.”

“You? You’re scared?” Jake’s high, squeaky voice gave away his amusement before he broke into another fit of hysterics.

The Doctor motioned to the barkeep. His glass was immediately re-filled, and he knocked back a third.

Jake righted himself. “Okay. Here’s what you do. You take your magic booze pills so you can drive. You get into that hot sports car of yours, you speed home going through as many red lights as you can. Use the flashers. We all do it. Coppers won’t pull you over. And you have sex right there on the spot. Maybe use the wall.”

“Not that simple.”

“Again I ask, why?”

“Never done it before. Well, at least not in this body. Not in the body before that either, or the one before that, or...”

Jake just shook his head and put his arm around his friend. “Go home, Doctor.”

The Doctor downed a fourth shot of Scotch, squared his shoulders, downed the pills dry, and felt the affects of the alcohol dissipating. He puffed into the Torchwood-provided Breathalyzer, and the machine spit out a ticket that would release his keys from the valet.

“Allons-y,” he said to himself as he shuffled his way to his car.

oOo

When Rose arrived home, she changed out of her Halloween Bird Girl costume — _and that’s what it was, damn it!_ She had worked so hard making it. But right now, she hated it. She eyed the feathered frock that lay in a heap on the floor. She pulled on a cozy flannel nightgown and slumped into the couch, arms and legs crossed resolutely.

Rose flinched nervously as she heard the whir of the Doctor’s sonic unlocking their door. He never had gotten used to using a key, and she found the practice rather endearing to be honest, and the sound softened her anger considerably. She’d had plenty of time to stew — she had gotten home at 9:45 and it was now nearing 11:30.

The Doctor quietly padded in and sat next to her without a word, or a glance.

“You still mad?” he asked sheepishly.

“Yes,” she answered unconvincingly, picking at her fingernails.

“Can we start this night over?”

Rose harrumphed and turned away from him, but then turned back and uncrossed her arms. She grabbed a square throw pillow, hugged it to her chest and rested her chin on the glistening, crushed brown velvet.

“Hello, I’m BananaBoi, and I’m apparently an idiot, so I’ve been told. I see you’ve molted your lovely feathers, Halloween Bird Girl.”

She couldn’t help but smile at that. “Doctor, I’m… I’m sorry for the way I acted. I think I may have had a bit too much to drink.” She sighed and tossed the pillow aside. “But what I said was the truth. I can’t go on like this anymore. This holding pattern, it’s driving me insane.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes, staring straight ahead.

“You didn’t drive home buzzed did you?” he asked.

“No, I took my pills.”

“Yeah, I needed ‘em too. Couldn’t work the stuff out of my system without some help.”

“You drank?”

“Four shots of Scotch.”

“Wow.”

He didn’t answer, but instead, pulled a face of pure revulsion.

“What _are_ you wearing?”

“You were offended by the feathers, so I changed.”

“It’s inappropriate. Go change again.”

She laughed.

“I’m serious Rose Tyler. You are dressed absolutely inappropriately for the occasion.”

“What’s the occasion, Doctor?”

“Remember how you celebrated the first time you were able to say Raxacoricofallapatorius without stumbling through it?”

“Yeah…”

“Well,” he cleared his throat nervously. “I think I have a previously un-utterable word that needs celebrating. Well, that _we_ need to celebrate.”

Rose bit her lower lip and smiled. “So what would be appropriate attire for this celebration, Doctor?” Rose turned and wrapped her arms around the Doctor’s neck, drawing him closer.

And just like that on that beach, months before, they were in each other’s arms. And he kissed her. Not in the hair.


	2. Banana Boi

Part II

“Why are you kissing me on the _cheek_?” Rose pushed him away angrily.

“Because it is soft and... and... pink and perfectly kissable?” he said innocently blushing and wincing a bit as he recoiled from her flashing eyes.

Rose angrily stood up from the couch, and he sank back deeper into the cushions with a sheepish look on his face.

Rose sashayed into their bedroom and gently closed the door, locking it behind her.

The Doctor gritted his teeth and growled a bit. _I can’t hold out much longer. But this is going to be the death of me._

The Doctor continued his desperate thoughts, pacing and ruffling his hair.

oOo

Rose leaned against the door and banged her head in frustration before pushing off of the door and walking towards the en suite. She pulled the nightgown over her head and flung it into the laundry hamper and headed for the shower to calm down.

The hot water hit her back and she reached for her bottle of soap — right next to his. She grabbed the sopping wet feathers that were still in her hair from the Halloween outfit, and tossed them out the shower onto the tile floor. As she lathered her body, she let her mind wander back to a few weeks after their arrival.

The Doctor had been in Torchwood indoctrination all day and decided to spend the evening at the pub with Jake and some other guys he’d just met.

And like every other day, he’d looked devastatingly, heart-throbbingly handsome. But different. She was reminded again he was a new man. He was wearing his charcoal pinstripe suit cut in his favorite style with a dark blue shirt open at the collar. He was downright cheerful because the night before, he had found a reasonable facsimile of The Coat at a thrift shop in Soho. And then he’d smiled that same smile — the Christmas smile — when he had walked into the flat, so proud to show off his new look. _Not so different, then,_ she’d thought.

That day, every time he had been released from the meeting for a break, he had come to her office, flirted with her, hugged her, and kissed her in the hair. He had told her funny stories and brought her little treats from the buffet. 

By mid-afternoon, she’d become ridiculously aroused to the point of distraction, and unable to complete one bit of work. 

_Tonight will be the night! I just know it!_ she’d thought, so she had decided to forget work and go shopping while he was out with his new mates.

She had tucked her hair into a trendy crocheted cap, thrown on her dark hide-from-the-paparazzi sunglasses and had borrowed a car from the motor pool. (Pete had chewed her out the next day for lying to the clerk about the purpose of the trip.) In one of the few times she had ever used the weight of her heiress status and name. She’d called ahead to the poshest lingerie boutique in London, Agent Provocateur, and arranged for a private fitting so that nosy customers couldn’t gawk at the supposedly lonely and very mysterious Vitex heiress. She’d walked out of the store with bags full of hundreds of dollars of sexy lingerie. 

The Doctor had returned home from his pub night around 9:30, and Rose greeted him at the door wearing a bum-skimming TARDIS blue silk chemise (and very little underneath). He greeted her with a cheerful smile on his face and a greasy bag of still-hot takeaway chips in his hand.

So Rose was stuck holding a greasy bag of chips, and he’d brushed past her. He plopped onto the sofa, flipped on the TV, crossed his legs and proceeded to laugh himself silly through back-to-back episodes of _Mr. Bean_. By 11:45, Rose had given up her teasing touches, walks in front of the telly, and dropping items and picking them up in his line of sight. She’d stopped letting the thin strap of her chemise slip off of her shoulder as she snuggled up next to him, and pretending to laugh at the antics on the screen. She had stopped breathing into his ear while they chastely snuggled. With a heavy, overly dramatic sigh, she had gone to bed without saying goodnight, leaving him in front of the blue glow of the television.

She began to rationalize his lack of interest. He was confused. So was she, to be honest, but then she would remember that the incredible chemistry was still there. Stolen glances sent them both blushing; the mere brush of their hands had made her heart beat rapidly and sent fire straight to places that were severely neglected.

And then there was the cuddling at night that become a lesson in self-control for Rose. “Ladies first Rose,” ( _and not in the good way either_ ) he would say, as he would let Rose prepare for bed first, giving her the run of the bathroom. As soon as she was settled in their king sized bed, he would take a shower and serenade her with Gilbert & Sullivan, ABBA, Mumford & Sons, Verdi, Bon Jovi, Tom Jones. His repertoire was endless.

To continue the torture, he would wrap a towel low around his slim hips, and come out and grab his clean pyjamas. This was always done with the flash of a smile as he returned to the en suite to finish his routine. He didn’t have the decency to bring them into the en suite with him _before_ his shower... Noooo! He had to parade that lithe, sexy, trim, muscled, slim, perfect physique in front of her every single night. She listened as he brushed and flossed his teeth, tell himself just what great hair he had as he ruffled it, and then she heard the crinkle of cotton as he pulled on those maddening blue striped jim jams (as he still called them). 

All of this happened with the door cracked just an inch.

Several times, Rose had tried to sneak a peek while he changed, but he would always go behind the door to actually do his dressing.

Then, to heap burning coals upon her head, he would saunter out with those glasses on — those specs of sex — and flop into bed wearing a droopy, tired, completely wonderful smile. He’d grab a book and read for precisely seven minutes and then he would kiss her hair, cheerily say, “Goodnight Rose,” turn over onto his side and promptly fall asleep. Invariably, fifteen minutes later, he would turn back over so that he could snuggle up as close as close could be. He’d wrap one of his legs over hers, and pull her close, seeking her hands in his sleep and clasp them to the center of her chest. His warm, steady breath on her neck sent shivers of desire down her spine.

And she couldn’t do one damn thing about it. Here she was, wrapped up in the arms of an apparently clueless man. Ready and willing to give him whatever he wanted. And all he did was sleep. 

Until he would start to dream those erotic dreams of his. And then she would die a little bit more.

It was all excruciatingly intimate. And this happened every. single. torturous. night.

She snapped herself out of her frustrating reverie. The more she thought about it, the more resolved she became as she quickly dried herself off with the fluffy white towel.

oOo

The Doctor was fed up with holding back. He was tired of being a gentleman. He was done with pretending to be asleep just so he could cuddle with Rose.

But most of all, he was no longer scared of having sex with Rose Tyler.

But it wasn’t the sex he’d been afraid of. Not exactly. The Doctor was afraid that once he had sex with Rose Tyler, he’d never be able to control himself around her again. That he would become addicted to her. Lose a millennia of carefully cultivated self-control. 

Oh who was he kidding. He’d already lost the fight. Halloween Bird Girl had been the straw that had finally snapped the camel’s back in two. It was inevitable now. Tonight, the Doctor was ready to give in, and so he decided he was going to do it with a bang.

“Just you wait and see, Rose Tyler! No more hair kissing, and certainly no more pretending to be asleep so I can cuddle you,” he said out loud, pointing at the door, knowing full well that she hadn’t heard him, as he could hear the shower running.

He stuck his head in the fridge as he pushed through the containers of should-be-thrown-away take away. In the back, on its side, was a bottle of 1996 Krug Clos Des Mesnil Champagne. A crushed ribbon was around the neck of the bottle with a gift card attached. He pulled out the wine and read the card out loud. _To Rose and the Doctor. Thanks for saving us. Gratefully, President Harriet Jones._

“That is an outstanding bottle of Champagne. I wonder if Rose has a sword anywhere in this flat? It’s been a while since I’ve sabered a bottle of champagne. It would certainly be impressive. Might make up for some of my other inadequacies. Well not inadequacies. Because I’m certainly not inadequate. I’m quite adequate in fact. _More_ than adequate. Endowed in fact. Very well endowed.”

The Doctor fiddled with his sonic as he talked to himself. He aimed it at the stereo until a song which fit Rose’s criteria began to play. Bum ba da da bum, ba da da bum bum. Bum ba da da bum, ba da da bum bum...  

A familiar and erotic drum beat began quietly, and then a single woodwind began the haunting melody. He gave a self-satisfied half-smile and pressed stop.

He rifled through the kitchen storage and found a jar of gourmet chocolate sauce. It had probably been tucked in one of the many gift baskets Rose received on a regular basis. He opened the jar and stuck in his finger to taste. The dark chocolate was exquisitely fine, with just a hint of coffee liqueur. He found a small crystal bowl and scooped out the chocolate, with a spoon this time, and aimed his sonic, heating it to the perfect consistency for drizzling... and finger painting... or dipping... or dipping things... things to be licked.

The Champagne was on ice, two crystal flutes were ready, the chocolate was perfect, and the most erotic music on the planet was ready to become the soundtrack to seduction. He lit a fire in the fireplace and soniced the many crystal votive candles scattered about the room. He dimmed the lights and sat on the sofa, rolled up his sleeves, mussed his hair perfectly and loosened his tie to achieve maximum casual perfection.

He heard the door unlock, so he crossed his leg in a manly pose and stretched his arms out, draping them over the back of the sofa.

oOo

Rose stood in front of her dresser and slowly opened _that_ drawer. She gently touched the brand new lingerie she’d stowed after the shopping trip. 

“Fuschia?” She held up a sheer chemise with matching cheeky pants, complete with a big bow on the bum. “What was I thinking? That’ll make my bum look huge. What about the blue?” She shook her head, recalling how much he missed his TARDIS, and stuffed it back in the drawer.

She pulled out the last set. The sales girl had cajoled her into the purchase. “Be brave! He’ll love it! So who is he anyway?” The salesgirl had tried to be casual with her question, but Rose had successfully deflected her prying. However, Rose _had_ caved into the salesgirl when it came to the provocative lingerie that she had suggested, and bought everything she had promised was so sexy that Rose would reduce her man to a state of quivering lust.

Rose cinched the silken cord that secured the front of the corset as she examined the black satin lace-front corset. She adjusted the built-in bra, and then smiled wickedly. _I look stacked!_ She stood a full 4 inches taller than her normal petite height on simple black stiletto pumps. Diminutive black lace knickers completed the look. Miniature bows that matched the silken cord tied the sides. She imagined his nimble fingers tugging on the end of each cord. Slowly. The bow would finally loosen, and the silk would fall away to the floor with a sexy shift of her hips.

She applied heavy dark eye makeup that made her eyes look smoldering and smokey, and glided on shimmering golden lip gloss. She tousled her hair between her fingers to achieve a freshly sexed-up look.

Rose stood in front of the floor length mirror, examining herself. She dragged her hands up her curves. She was now the Towering Sex Goddess Who Would Slay the Mighty Doctor. _This. Will. Do._

oOo

At the sight of Rose Tyler emerging out of the bedroom, all of the Doctor’s casual confidence evaporated in the space of a moment and turned into a heap of pure, unadulterated lust.

“Hello, Doctor,” she said breathily, in her best Towering Sex Goddess voice.

Towards him she walked — one leg seductively crossing the other, closer and closer, slow-motion, step-by-step through the candlelight, hips swaying sensually.

But then her heel broke, and she crashed face first into the Doctor’s lap.

His confidence returned. “Anxious are we, hmmm?” the Doctor replied, looking down at the back of Rose’s head.

The balance of power shifted in favor of the Doctor.

Rose scrambled to her feet. She blew her hair out of her face and tried to strike a confident pose. But it was unconvincing, as she teetered on one heel and tried to stand tippy-toe on the other

He watched her darkly, and then pulled off his glasses.

“I think the night calls for Champagne, don’t you agree?” he asked with a glint in his eye and a hint of James Bond swagger in his voice.

Rose stepped out of her heels and kicked them aside, no longer feeling like Towering Sex Goddess, but instead like Trussed Up Girl in the Too-Tight Corset.

The Doctor took his sonic out of his pocket, and picked up the bottle of Champagne. He held the bottle at arm’s length and sheered off the top with his sonic. The cork, still encased in the glass, shot off of the bottle and hit one of the crystal votive candles on the mantle, knocking it to the stone hearth. With a crash, it shattered to pieces.

Defying logic, the candle remained lit and instantly caught the fringe of the Persian area rug on fire. Half of the Champagne was now soaking into the rug, set free by the violent opening of the bottle.

Rose flew to the coffee table, grabbed the ice bucket and doused the fire. “What the bloody hell was that all about?” she asked angrily, pointing at the half-full bottle of Champagne on the table.

“I wanted to sabre the bottle, but you don’t have a sword, so I used the sonic. It worked. Until the fire happened,” he smiled brightly as he bounced on his heels. “You don’t have a sword to you? I don’t think the sonic worked in this case.”

She pinched her lips together to stifle a smile. “No, I don’t keep a sword about the flat.”

“I see that smile, Rose. You can’t hide it from me. Oh, um, you’re almost... coming out of your... black... lace-up _thing_... there.” He pointed in her general direction.

Rose looked down and groaned, quickly saving herself from a wardrobe malfunction. Spontaneous popping out wasn’t very sexy. 

With a double-handed upward tug of the corset she was once-again covered up. She dropped herself onto a tuffet by the fire, and grabbed an soft afghan draped over the back of the nearby chair. She pulled it around her shoulders and sighed.

“Did you know that President Jones sent us a £985 bottle of champagne?” The Doctor’s cheery voice announced.

“Hmm.”

“Yep. I looked it up online while you were in the shower.”

“That’s sort of rude, lookin’ up the price of a gift,” she challenged.

“That’s me. Rude and not ginger.”

Rose rolled her eyes as she got up from the tuffet and moved next to him on the sofa, still wrapped in the afghan.

“I like the bows on your knickers. One quick pull and off they come. Easy access.”

Rose laughed wryly. “Not, ‘You are stunningly sexy,’ or ‘Rose, you look ravishing,’ but ‘Easy access.’ You sure know how to charm a girl.”

He cleared his throat. “How about some Champagne and music?”

“Sure,” she said flatly, as she stared into the fire.

The Doctor aimed his sonic and the sounds of Ravel’s Bolero filled the room and then poured them each a glass of the fine, cream-colored wine.

“Bolero?” Rose asked incredulously as took a sip from the crystal flute

“Couldn’t think of any single piece of music that was more suited to the occasion. This piece of music is scientifically proven to improve the chances of orgasm by 82%.”

Rose choked on the wine. The Doctor patted her on the back until the coughing subsided.

“Oh yes! Ravel. Brilliant man. In any universe. He may have not known it when it wrote it, in fact I don’t believe he did. But that’s not the point. I do have a point, and it is this. When two humans engage in the sexual act of intercourse — and, I can’t emphasize this enough — properly time the natural progression of their physical urges to the subtle, but decipherable, cues in the music — i.e. gentle grazing of teeth, rubbing, caressing, flicking, sucking, licking, consentual biting and so forth — by the time the musical climax is reached, well, the human climax is also --”

Rose shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

“I can see you are already aroused,” said the Doctor, tracing upwards towards the soft skin just above her knee.

She gently removed his hand. “Doctor, sex... sex isn’t science. It is... people who are committed. In love. It is relationship. It is not bloody calculations and timing and... thrusting to a drumbeat.” She groaned angrily and crossed both her arms and legs. She bobbed her foot quickly. 

“So why did you chose to dress like that, hmm? Because that lingerie has been observed to elicit arousal in the vast majority of human males, and most human females I might add, that’s why. You,” he pointed, “Rose Tyler, are using science to seduce me, and you didn’t even know it.”

“Then why the bloody hell hasn’t it worked?! If this horribly uncomfortable _getup_ is such a powerful tool of science, why aren’t you rippin’ it off of me and pouncin’ on me like... like any normal human man!”

“Is that what you want?” He screwed up his face and stood up to face her.

“YES!” Rose bellowed at the top of her lungs in a window shattering, earth shaking cry for release. But then she blanched and clamped both of her hands over her mouth and sucked in her breath, eyes wide open at the gravity of what she had just admitted. “I mean, I didn’t mean, I—“

The Doctor stood stone still, mouth agape for a moment, and then he pushed his hands into his pockets and closed his mouth.  “I won’t do that to you. I would never attack you like that Rose. I’m not some normal human man who seemingly has no control over their passions and desires.”

“You know I didn’t think you’d ever do that. But why don’t you want me Doctor?” she asked with a hurt-filled voice. “I’ve tried everything I could think of besides coming right out and begging, and I’m getting to the point where I’m not ashamed to admit that I might just do that! Oh my knees! Subtle hints, not-so-subtle hints, answering the door wearing nothing but one square foot of silk. I invited you into my bed for heaven’s sake, Doctor!”

“I’m sorry, Rose,” he apologized when he saw the hurt look on her face. “I’m not totally human, remember? My body may be human, but my mind?” He tapped his temple with a finger. “Still fully Time Lord. Having a hard time switching that off. Spent all that time following the rules. Almost a millennia of bloody rules.” He stood up and began pacing across the soft Persian rug.

“What rules?” she asked softly as she picked her fingernails.

“Well, there was never fall in love with a companion. Broke that one, of course. So I came up with rule number two: don’t act on said love. Started to break that one, too. All of that hand-holding? Hugging? All of those things that you shared your massive distaste for earlier tonight Rose? What you didn’t know is that my holding your hand was tantamount to shagging you right on the sidewalk. Time Lords just didn’t do that. Ever.”

Rose’s eyes went wide and she blushed.

“And then there was the emotional attachment rule, which went out the window when I lost you. I held on so damn tightly, Rose. I tried to let go. And I just couldn’t. You and Donna may have had a good laugh about her catching me wrapped up in your hoodie in your bedroom. That was nothing to laugh about, Rose Tyler. I was devastated when I lost you. That little bit of contact with your memory? That helped a great deal, but still, it was a broken rule. And then I broke one of the biggest: I halted a regeneration for you. And you know what happened next. Pop! Here I am. Not-quite-human-not-quite-Time Lord Doctor.”

“But you _are_ still you. You _are_ Time Lord. You’re my Doctor. I promised you forever, remember?”

“Yes. I remember. And I’ll never forget,” he said after a moment. “I’m definitely not sorry to be me. Please don’t get me wrong. I’m thrilled to be me. I’m the lucky one. You chose me, right?” He said this with a genuine smile and knelt down in front of her, lifting her chin with a fingertip, and placing a gentle kiss... not in her hair, not on her cheek... but on her pink, waiting lips. When he pulled back, he touched his nose to hers and smiled again.

“I’m afraid Rose. So afraid of losing my self-control to you. I’m not afraid of the physical act of sex, I’m afraid of sex with _you_. Because, well,” he rubbed the back of his neck, “once I let go, I’m afraid I’ll never have self-control again.”

“Who says you need to have self-control when it comes to us, Doctor?” She laughed. “I’m not quite sure you have ever had _any_ self control. Running into danger? That gob of yours?”

He nodded and smiled. 

“But I promise you, there is nothing more that I want in this entire universe, than for you to lose your self-control to me, and only to me,” said Rose.

“Are you sure about this?”

“Yeah.”

He grinned slowly. “Be careful what you ask for then, Rose Tyler, because you will most certainly get it.” His eyes were now almost completely dark as he huskily spoke into her ear. “Ask me.”

“All right then. This is me asking. Doctor, how about we lose control together?” 

With a confident tug of the silken cord, Rose untied the bow.

oOo

The following Halloween, Rose Tyler helped him ease into the banana costume. “Don’t you look handsome my BananaBoi!” She tickled his chin.

“You look awfully sexy in your feathers.” The Doctor squeezed her feather-clad bum and then wrapped his arms around his wife. He pressed his lips onto the fuzzy head of their one-month old son and then soundly kissed his Bird Girl.

“What is that costume you’re wearing?” she asked with a confused look on her face.

“I am a Cuckoolan Police Officer, ridding the streets of unlicensed Cuckoolan pleasure workers. I may have to put my handcuffs on you, Bird Girl.”


End file.
